FLORENCE WELCH

Born in London in 1986 to a Renaissance professor and a scholar of Renaissance art — raised in a house stacked with books and ghosts. She sang in choirs, she read too much, she dreamed in velvet.

By her twenties, Florence was thrashing stages with Lungs and baptizing arenas in baroque chaos. A voice that could flatten walls, a presence that felt half-witch, half-saint.

She doesn’t just perform. She conjures. She unravels. She makes collapse sound holy.

Every album feels like she bled herself dry just to resurrect in song.

Everybody Scream is the sixth studio album from Florence + the Machine, officially announced on 19 August 2025 and scheduled to drop on Halloween—31 October 2025, via Polydor Records.

The tease began in July with cryptic Instagram posts—images of Welch in a red dress digging a hole, surrounded by phrases like “witchcraft, folk horror, mysticism, magic, poetry [and] insanity” scribbled across whiteboards ( Wikipedia, French Wikipedia). That built to the lead single and title track “Everybody Scream”, released 20 August alongside a ritual-charged video directed by Autumn de Wilde ( Pitchfork).

This new work is deeply shaped by Florence’s near-death experience and subsequent lifesaving surgery during the Dance Fever tour. That bruise of reality pushed her toward mysticism, witchcraft, and folk horror as she reconstructed what “healing” could even mean ( When The Horn Blows, Noise11).

Thematically, the album roams through womanhood, partnership, aging, mortality, and the uncanny within the everyday ( Noise11, uDiscoverMusic). Sonically, the track “Everybody Scream” blends gothic ritual with pop drama and live-fueled catharsis—led by haunting chants, galloping drums, and lyrics that blur the line between performance and exorcism (“Blood on the stage… when you’re screaming my name”) ( Nylon, uDiscoverMusic, Consequence).

Fans on Reddit parse the track as both a reclaiming of stage identity and a reckoning with burnout—and a direct dialogue with her Dance Fever era. One analysis even reads it as a sequel to “Morning Elvis,” bringing the narrative full circle—from surrender to the stage to demanding the crowd’s own surrender.

Everybody Scream was filmed at Castle Carr in Yorkshire and Wythenshawe Hall in Manchester — two places that feel less like sets and more like characters in the video. They became my editorial inspiration. And because I riff with AI, I was able to “travel” there, relive the mood, and stitch that atmosphere straight into fabric. I love riding horses, so I went by horse.

Castle Carr is all wild moors and wind. It pushes you toward distortion: a Liberty print gone feral. Stark florals scattered like weeds across crimson ground, ravens and crooked motifs hiding in the negative space. Editorially, it’s the perfect backdrop for oversized coats and knitwear that feel weather-beaten and untamed.

Wythenshawe Hall is the opposite: ritual and restraint. Its carved wood and shadowy interiors read like woven jacquard. A velvet gown could pull from the gilded paneling; a silk jacquard might echo the geometric shadows of its windows. Editorial could be styled almost ceremonial — models posed like a tableau vivant, as if the clothes themselves were relics.

Florence always chooses places that amplify the duality in her music. Here, the outdoors is raw chaos; the indoors, sacred control. That duality is the same tension I riff into textiles: irregular, hand-drawn prints versus strict, architectural weaves.

Florence doesn’t just make music.

She raises ruin into ritual, turns a scream into a cathedral, makes collapse feel like communion.

And this collection?
It’s the shrine to Florence Welch.

Let's SCREAM